


The Incomparable Tim Stoker Specialty Drinks World Tour (Soho Centric)

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Getting Together, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives), Martim week: club/pub/bar, Martim week: identity, Pub Crawl, References to Past Bullying, gay bars, sashas impeccable gaydar, tims shit gaydar, writing this made me yearn for the gay club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: Tim had spent the better part of the afternoon - Thursday afternoon, since he wanted to be ready for Friday night - trying to think of a slick line, but what managed to come out of his mouth when he eventually worked up the nerve to ask was ‘drinks?’Martin blinked as he looked up at the noise, still chewing the pen Tim had been watching him chew for the better part of an hour. ‘Huh?’Tim cringed internally. Externally, he flashed a smile. ‘I said, ‘drinks’?’
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	The Incomparable Tim Stoker Specialty Drinks World Tour (Soho Centric)

**Author's Note:**

> martim week continuessss day 3 - doubled up on the alcohol and the identity 
> 
> i have to shout out the server u know who u are for the tims shit gaydar hcs its so funny to me. there is like... vague discussion of internalised homophobia and stereotypes and identity stuff going on in this. let them be flamboyant if they so desire...

Tim had spent the better part of the afternoon - Thursday afternoon, since he wanted to be ready for Friday night - trying to think of a slick line, but what managed to come out of his mouth when he eventually worked up the nerve to ask was ‘drinks?’

Martin blinked as he looked up at the noise, still chewing the pen Tim had been watching him chew for the better part of an hour. ‘Huh?’

Tim cringed internally. Externally, he flashed a smile. ‘I said, ‘drinks’?’

‘Okay..? Sure?’ Martin said slowly, then, before Tim’s heart could pump its fist in the air like the end of  _ The Breakfast Club _ , he went on to ask - ‘When, where, how, why, who?’

Tim couldn’t help smile at him. ‘You’re not into the spontaneous thing are you?’

‘I’m not... not spontaneous. I’m just asking.’

‘Well,’ Tim launched into the explanation he’d been working on instead of the report in front of him, ‘I know you don’t like wine, so a wine night was off the table. I thought I could try and figure out what you actually  _ do  _ like to drink. We could go on a little tour, I promise I know all the best spots.’ 

‘Oh, so...’ Martin fiddled with his pen, ‘so it would just be us two?’

‘Yeah.’ Tim answered. Then, before he could get shot down - ‘Tomorrow night after work?’

‘I have to get up early on Saturday.’

‘Who gets up  _ early  _ on a  _ Saturday?’  _ Tim said with a disgusted tone.

Martin did not meet that with any kind of fluster. Instead he tilted his head and stuck his lip out stubbornly. ‘Me, obviously,’ he said, the attitude he normally hid or got too anxious to let out at the office dripping off of him. 

God Tim was so into him. ‘Okay,’ he smiled, ‘Saturday night? That’s better anyway, time to change and all.’ 

He was already mentally rummaging through his wardrobe. Maybe earrings. 

Martin still looked a little wary of the whole thing - like he couldn’t quite think why he was being asked, or maybe like he just never trusted his own luck. He was smiling though, so Tim flattered himself into believing it was nothing to do with  _ him _ . 

He really hoped it wasn’t apprehension that he was going to try and do exactly what he was going to try and do. Which was to flirt his way into a kiss. 

‘Sure,’ Martin said, and Tim couldn’t help beaming like an idiot. 

‘You’ve got pen on your lip by the way,’ he said happily. 

Martin tsked as he touched it, glaring at the blue spot on his fingertip. ‘Oh,’ he said like an exasperated parent, ‘I’m always doing that.’

_ Yes,  _ Tim thought, too wrapped up in his little frown to wonder where that tone came from,  _ and it’s adorable and you don’t even know.  _

He said none of that, only winked and pretended to go back to his work like he’d be able to focus on it. In truth, he was so ecstatic he could barely sit still through till five o’clock. 

Saturday night came around and Tim was bouncing off the walls. He’d very carefully selected an outfit he thought was nice enough to look like he’d put in effort, but not so formal as to read DATE in flashing lights. It was also gay enough to look great under the multi-coloured lights of the Soho club he’d pencilled as their last stop, but not so flashy that it screamed I’m flirting with you. He didn’t want to overdo it and freak Martin out, which honestly, he did think was a possibility. 

He was a self aware guy; he knew he could come on a bit strong. And despite the poetry and the sass and the way he talked a lot with his hands when he wasn’t trying to keep them small and to himself, Tim did think Martin might be the kind of guy to worry if things got too fruity too sober. After all, he barely talked about himself, and it wasn’t like Tim or Sasha had managed to get anything out of him about any exes yet. 

The familiar little bubble of  _ what if he’s straight what if he hates me for thinking what if  _ poked at the back of Tim’s head as he stood chewing gum outside the tube station they’d agreed on. But he pushed it down with the rationalised combo of his own, admittedly poor, intuition, and, much more convincing, Sasha's gobsmacked face when he’d worried to her about it. 

_ You think MARTIN is straight?  _ She’d somehow managed to say with her jaw on the table.  _ You’re a fucking blind man idiot, Stoker.  _

_ I don't think he is,  _ Tim had whined,  _ but I don’t KNOW- _

_ Don’t but,  _ she’d held up a finger and gestured through the kitchen door,  _ he’s literally sat on his own ankle right now, AND he spent lunch trying to tell us Marlowe’s poems are underrated.  _

_ Okay, yes the poetry thing, but- _

_ He called him ‘Kit’, Tim. First name terms. Nickname terms. _

_ Well, he likes... literature. I like literature.  _

_ You’re literally bisexual.  _

_ Yes, but not BECAUSE I like literature-  _

_ Tim, please can I direct your eyes to the kitchen, where the very man you think might be straight is currently limp-wristing his way through boiling a kettle.  _

_ Sasha. _

_ Don’t tell me I’m being homophobic until you’ve kissed him. I will put a tenner on it.  _

Tim had sighed dramatically.  _ You’ll bet so frivolously with your friend’s poor heart? _

She’d aww’d at him, then dropped into a serious expression.  _ Your heart will be fine, I promise. I’m sure you’ll have a great time with the gayest person in this office.  _

That had made him gasp.  _ You mean I’M not the-?! _

_ No.  _

He’d looked again through the kitchen door, where Martin was humming slightly as he bobbed his teabags. He really really hoped she was right. 

Tim’s worries were quelled as soon as Martin appeared, puffing slightly, at his elbow. He was a bit pink in the face, and whether from the heat of the tube, the cold of the night air, rushing up the stairs, or the same reason Tim’s faces already felt warm, Tim decided for the fifth time since he started getting dressed that he was going to kiss this man tonight if he had to graft like he’d never grafted before. 

‘Hi,’ Martin smiled as his breathing cooled down a bit, ‘sorry, had to run for the train. You haven’t been waiting, have you?’ 

Tim’s brain screamed at him then for being such an idiot.  _ He ran for the train, I can’t have made this up.  _ He chastised it mentally for getting ahead of itself, but couldn’t feel elated at a great start to the night. 

‘No,’ he promised. (He’d been there ten minutes.) ‘Just got here. Ready for stop number one?’ 

‘Nah,’ Martin said sarcastically. Likely, Tim thought, to cover the fact he was still a bit pink as they set off. ‘Dreading it really. Thought I might sack it off and leave you to it.’ 

‘Shut up, you’ll love it.’

‘I’m kidding. I’m sure I will.’ 

It turned out Martin did not quite love it. At least not immediately. He didn’t exactly look  _ un _ comfortable, but he didn’t look like he was feeling that easy relief of letting everything go that Tim, despite how open he was, even at work, felt when he walked into a friendly gay bar. Tim hoped that didn't mean he'd brought a straight dude in, and mentally played Sasha's sure, laughing face back to him. 

He was leaning on his elbow, taking in the decor with an expression Tim was trying to figure out as the bartender approached and took Tim’s order for a cocktail with a hilariously ridiculous name. 

Over the shaking of the ice and liquor, Martin asked ‘don't you get embarrassed ordering that?’

Tim looked up at him - he was leaning low on the bar - with a raised eyebrow. ‘Martin. We’re in Soho.’

‘I guess.’

‘And you're stood at the bar with a man wearing a George Michael earring.’

(A bold silver cross, with a feather attached. Tim was pretty fond of it but didn’t get the chance to wear it often.)

Martin huffed a small laugh. Tim couldn’t quite call it a win though, as it felt like he’d aimed it at himself. ‘That's a good point I suppose,’ he said ruefully.

‘What?’

‘I just...’ He sighed, ‘I never went all in on the gay scene, you know, so-’ he tapped a larger tap and Tim groaned. 

‘Please don't tell me you're drinking that piss.’

‘Please don't tell me you’re an IPA snob, I refuse to pay seven pound a pint.’

Tim shook his head - they were getting off topic. Besides, from what Martin had said… maybe Sasha _was_ right, then. He decided in true Tim fashion to A) trust Sasha, and B) go all in. He wouldn’t allow himself to be bamboozled out of treating his date to a cocktail. ‘Martin, please. I guarantee everyone in here knows you're gay, now can I please buy you a woo woo?’ 

Martin snorted laughing at that, his weight coming off the bar with it. Tim glowed, more than he thought he might just from winning the argument. So he was gay then? He certainly didn't contradict it. _Sasha_ , Tim thought, _you fucking legend_. He was so excited he didn’t mind in the slightest being teased. 

‘You know how daft that sounds right?’

Tim shrugged. ‘Part of the fun.’

Martin nodded. His smile faded slightly as he pulled his lip under his teeth, thinking. Then he frowned slightly, pushing his glasses up. ‘ _ Everyone _ in here, really?’

Tim could maybe have admitted he didn't trust his own intuition. Instead he grinned and gestured to the way Martin was standing - close and leaning down slightly to Tim's level, arms crossed and weight in one hip against the bar. He grimaced and straightened up.

‘Aw, come on,’ Tim tutted, jostling his elbow, ‘be flamboyant with me. I know you like cranberry.’

‘Alright, alright, you win,’ he laughed, and Tim beamed as he placed the order. Their drinks both came back with umbrellas and multicoloured straws.

After that they headed to Tim's favourite cider specialist, part of a little circle he’d planned that would take them away from and back to the heart of Soho just in time for the last cheap entry at his favourite club. 

Martin seemed oddly more comfortable in the dingy booth he chose for them than he had in the last place. He put up far less of a fight as Tim brought them over his first selection. 

‘None of that Thatcher’s malarky. Listen, they go on and on about  _ what cider’s supposed to taste like,  _ but  _ this _ ,’ Tim announced, putting down two pint glasses that Martin looked relieved at knowing how to hold, ‘is the finest cider I’ve had outside of Dorset.’

They chatted easily about that for a while - Tim’s all-over-the-shop childhood in the West, a bit in the Midlands and even further North, a bit here in London. About his very messy first kiss with a girl in a muddy field, drunk on her dad’s homemade scrumpy. That got him a good laugh, and his heart jolted at the way Martin's lip pulled higher on one side when he smiled fully, at the way they were talking about  _ kissing  _ so they must both be thinking about it.

‘You like that story you should hear the boy one,’ Tim grinned, relishing each giggle as they sank another round, ‘promise it’s even worse.’ 

(It had been: a back garden at a Sheffield house party, and he’d been so dizzy from second-hand puffing on dodgy dope that he’d almost chucked up in the poor boy’s lap.)

‘Fair play to me though,’ he added through the pains in his chest from laughing, ‘he was quite cute. Ginger, glasses.’ 

Even through the bottom of his pint glass he didn’t miss the pointed look Martin gave him at that. He just wasn’t sure if it was a warning or just a  _ I know what you’re doing.  _

‘Mine was kind of bad too,’ Martin admitted after seeing off the dregs of his own pint. ‘I thought it was so romantic though.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. We saw  _ Lost In Translation _ in the cinema and I couldn’t stop crying. He walked me home and-’ he shrugged. ‘I made him stop round the corner, so he just kissed me by the bins, and I was still kind of snotty.’

‘That’s cute.’

‘Is it? I was sixteen.’

‘Very cute. I think the snot only adds to your other perfections.’ 

‘Shut up.’

Martin insisted on getting the next round, and Tim was warm and flattered of course by his chivalry, and very happy to see him being spontaneous, but he still had to tease him about the choice. 

‘Proper cider, please.’

‘Would you just let me-’

‘Do  _ not _ get some poxy fruity one.’

Martin scoffed at him. 'An hour ago you were begging me to get a fruity drink!’

‘Cider should taste like apples!’ Tim insisted, though he was giggling again.

‘It’s my turn to pick, isn’t it, if I’m buying?’

‘I thought this was my whirlwind tour?’ Tim teased, turning on his best pleading eyes. ‘I’ve planned all the stops...’

Martin frowned and slumped back to the table. He traced a whorl in the wood. ‘Okay, you pick then, I don't wanna spoil the tour.’

The laugh had suddenly gone out of him, and Tim wasn’t sure if he sounded upset or a bit annoyed, but he didn’t want the night to veer into either. Perhaps he was doing it again - coming on too strong trying to have the perfect date and avoiding the very spontaneity he had laughed at Martin for lacking. 

‘No,’ he insisted hurriedly, ‘it's fine. You don't have to drink what I like. You can pick.’

‘Really? You’re not gonna judge what I pick?’

‘No,’ Tim promised. ‘I mean maybe.’ Martin scoffed. ‘But, do whatever, it’s all fine. Sorry I just- I only made the plan because I wanted everything to be the best, you know.’

Martin’s face warmed into something soft and maybe even a little bit emotional. It reminded Tim very forcibly that this man had cried non stop after  _ Lost In Translation _ and also made him very much want to kiss him. 

‘It is,’ he said, ‘I’m... I’m having a really nice time, Tim.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded genuinely and Tim tried not to go red. ‘You planned a good one.’ 

‘Oh, good.’

They were still for a second, looking at each other with slightly dopey smiles, and if it were later in the night and not in a pub that showed horse racing and the Six Nations, Tim might have gone in for it then. His chest felt tight to bursting with the way his crush was squirming around, twisting itself into happy little knots. 

Then Martin had rapped on the table and said ‘drinks,’ seemingly more to himself than Tim, or at least, Tim was going to hope so. 

When he came back it was with a cloudy, dense looking scrumpy that tasted as fresh and as gritty as the one Tim had sloshed himself on in cornfields. 

‘You were right,’ Martin allowed as he worked though it, faster still than before, faster than Tim had thought he would considering how much he protested at a drop of wine. ‘This is good.’ 

About two-thirds through the glass he added ‘Christ, it’s  _ strong _ . I can see why this would make you want to roll around in the hay.’

‘There was no hay involved!’ Tim had defended himself rather than get too caught up in the implications of that one. 

The next establishment is one that not only shows the racing and rugby, but occasionally the GAA as well. 

Tim mainly chose this one because of the live music, which was very rarely actually Irish, but was always good. It hit them warmly with deep bass and slightly overblown vocals as soon as they pushed through the door. It was crowded, hot, and they had to push slightly to the bar. Tim offered Martin the last seat, but he steadfastly refused, so Tim took it and rather enjoyed the height advantage it gave him. 

The other reason he had chosen this pub was so he could show off about liking Guinness and being able to shoot whiskey. 

‘How can you drink that?’ Martin asked him, aghast, as he’d ordered a pint of the black stuff. ‘It’s like a three course meal.’

Tim patted his stomach smugly. ‘Exactly, value for money.’

‘I say again, _it’s seven pound a pint-’_

‘Listen, I did not spend three years in Dublin to come away  _ not  _ drinking Guinness. Sometimes.’ 

‘Ohhh,’ Martin grinned, ‘this is a pride thing. This is a  _ look at me, I went to Trinity _ thing?’

‘No, this is a  _ look what I can neck _ thing.’

‘You’re such a show off.’

Tim shrugged. ‘I like impressing cute boys with my lit soc tricks, sue me.’ 

There was a silence then filled only by gurning cheers as the band started up on some  _ Oasis _ . Martin was a bit red looking up, eyes a bit wide under the bar lights bouncing off his glasses, and Tim swore he could hear his pulse thrumming under his ear. He adjusted his palm against his cool glass, the condensation needed where he was getting a bit hot with the  _ thrill  _ of successful flirting. 

Martin’s eyes dragged away from his face to the almost full pint. The way he cleared his throat was barely noticeable except that Tim was on tenterhooks waiting for any morsel of hope. That little sound made his lips quirk into a smile that was genuinely elated and, yes, a little smug. 

‘You’re seriously not going to neck that?’ Martin asked with an eyebrow raised. 

‘I will if you neck your piss larger,’ Tim countered. 

They shared a moment of eye contact as they considered it, then the chorus started and in the loud, messy singing of the drinking crowd, Martin held his glass up for a clink. They both ended up coughing before they finished their pints. 

The club was already busy when they got there before midnight for that sweet sweet free entry and they ended up waiting a while. Tim huddled in himself, freezing in his denim jacket over a loose shirt, and Martin worried over him and crowded him against the wall to shelter him from the wind. His shirt was already open a little more at the collar, and this close Tim could see the hair on his chest poking through. He tried not to look too hard.

‘Sorry,’ Martin said, ‘I’d offer you mine, but...’

He’d come out without one. ‘Maniac,’ Tim told him, but even the offer warmed him up. 

It was that time of night where that sort of thing is acceptable between friends. His favourite time of the night when it came to a date, easing into touching when you’ve been thinking about it for hours. He breathed in the smell of Martin’s sweat and drinks and cologne and shivered. 

‘Why don’t  _ you  _ bring a proper coat if you get so cold?’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted. ‘I’m grand.’ 

The queue for the bar was even busier as everyone crowded for the pre-midnight prices. Tim would have skipped it and gone straight to the DJ with his list of requests that would never play if he hadn’t been on a date. As it was, Martin tugged him straight into the throng by the bar, promising that it was his round. This would have made Tim blush happily anyway, but knowing that he got a bit claustrophobic around big crowds made the gesture even sweeter, and he hung on to Martin’s arm, close and reassuring. And maybe just a bit feeling up his bicep.

‘I’ve never been here!’ Martin had to shout into his ear to make himself heard over the extremely loud Ariana Grande.

Tim gawped at him. It wasn’t exactly an underground spot - the line had been round the block. ‘You’ve never been here?!’

He shrugged, Tim’s hands on his arm moving with it. ‘I don’t really like dancing!’

_ Oh,  _ Tim thought,  _ you’ll be dancing alright.  _ As soon as Martin had paid for their drinks - two sambuca and two vodka cranberries - he marched them out of the queue with purpose and towards the floor. Martin laughed as he let Tim pull him through the crowd to a spot where they had space to dance together, sloshing mixer down themselves and onto the sticky floor. 

For all his protestations it didn’t take him long to warm up, not after they did their shots together and downed half their drinks to avoid spillage. He mimed along when they played something he knew, and the bit of femininity that came out with his lip synch, the bat of a loose hand to the beat... it was actually confident, Tim realised, or getting there. It was natural in a way that he was sure he must have noticed before in a subtler way. And it was _so_ damn attractive.

‘You’re a good dancer!’ Tim beamed at him, watching him sway his hips and shoulders and tapping his feet round in little circles. 

‘Really?!’

‘Yeah!’

‘Thanks!’

The next song sent the crowd cheering and screaming as soon as it started, and Tim was one of the loudest among them. Finally, they were breaking out the 80s tunes! He downed the rest of his drink, tossing the plastic cup over his shoulder, then took Martin's unoccupied hand and began to pull them both even closer to the DJ. Any resistance he might have expected was gone in the crowd, and he was overjoyed to find Martin singing along with him. This DJ is a genius!  _ I get so emotional baby!  _ They span around and around each other and the lights swam and Tim’s head was woozy and Martin’s face was a bit blurry but his hands were strong and sweaty in his. 

The song ended and faded back into something Tim didn’t know - one for the young ones probably. The two of them shrugged at each other, then fell about laughing, but they stayed where they were, bobbing up and down casually to the techy beat. Straight dancing, Tim leaned into Martin’s ear to joke. 

Martin laughed like he hadn’t really heard, but frowned like he was thinking about that. Tim wasn’t sure with all the drinking but he seemed like he was suddenly remembering he had a body, looking over his shoulder and moving a bit closer to Tim as if to give the crowd more space. 

Tim looked at him questioningly. He could have made all that up and the music suddenly felt loud enough to make the whole situation more concerning. The beat was urgent and he wondered if he should have got water from the bar. 

Martin shook his head and gave him a thumbs up.  _ I’m fine.  _ Then he leaned in as if knowing Tim wouldn’t believe him. ‘I didn’t think I was that obviously gay at work! I wasn’t trying to let anyone know!’

Tim grabbed without thinking to pull him down and landed round his wrist. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t sure!’ He admitted. ‘But Sasha told me!’

‘What?’

‘Sasha told me!’

‘Oh.’

He looked a bit dejected so Tim pushed into him, letting their chests bump a bit. He leaned up to Martin's ear this time, not shouting anymore. ‘You can trust us all though,’ he said as genuinely as he could. ‘I promise.’

He made himself lean back, and much as he missed the closeness as soon as it was gone, he was glad to see the reaction. ‘Thanks,’ Martin said genuinely, ‘that’s- that’s really nice of you.’ 

His eyes welled up a bit then and Tim couldn’t help but panic a bit. He moved forward again, but before he could get onto his toes again Martin waved a hand weakly. As if to explain away his reaction he sniffed and said simply and kind of loud ‘I got bullied in school.’ 

Tim practically grabbed him into a hug, reaching up to cross his arms tightly round Martin's neck and pull them flush, smooshing their cheeks and temples together. Martin collapsed into the hug, warm arms crushing Tim's middle. His face was very warm, his hair soft and only slightly sweaty against Tim's skin. He somehow managed to smell amazing, even in the dirt and drink of the dance floor. They swayed a little, wobbling out of time to the music. When they eventually pulled apart Tim couldn’t bring himself to let go, keeping his palms just below Martin's shoulders, just above resting blatantly on his chest. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asked before he’d really thought about it. 

The hesitation was not at all what he would have thought about if he had though. It seemed to go on for hours after the spell of impulse was broken.

‘Huh?’

‘I said ‘let’s get some air’,’ Tim said quickly. 

He turned on his heel and tugged Martin’s wrist back through the crowd without looking behind him, up the stairs, through the fire exit door, past a bouncer, and onto the roof-top smoking area. 

It wasn’t quiet, but it was far less crowded than the dance floor. Cool air hit his hot cheeks with a blast of shivering embarrassment, and he looked around aimlessly for a spot. His ears rang with the leftover echo of the music. Now instead there was the generalised chatter and distant loud of London. A siren span down a distant street and someone below them was yelling.

‘You okay?’ Martin asked him once they reached a corner overlooking the main road. In the relative quiet of upstairs, his voice sounded far too loud, even gentle as it was.

‘Me? I’m fine. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah..?’

‘Okay,’ Tim nodded to the floor, ‘good.’

‘So... why did we come out here?’  _ Good question. _ ‘You don’t smoke do you?’

Tim shook his head. 

‘Good,’ Martin said, exhaling heavily. ‘I definitely wouldn’t kiss you if you did.’

Tim stared. His tongue felt heavy and useless in his mouth and he just stared, taking in the shy flirtation, the small smile, the awkward lean against the balcony. ‘You-’ he stammered, ‘you heard me?’

‘Yeah,’ Martin said sheepishly.

Tim closed his eyes, trying to make sense of this. Trying to keep a lid on his excitement because this was  _ not  _ going according to his smooth plan. ‘Oh. But you, uh.’

‘Why did you say it?’ Martin asked, and he sounded very small and almost regretful. Like he was gently chastising Tim. Or himself. 

Tim couldn’t figure it out. He pulled a confused face, his nose wrinkling on the obvious. ‘Uh... I mean. I wanted to?’

Martin’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. ‘I thought you just felt sorry for me,’ he said slowly. 

‘What? No, I. I mean, I did a bit, but-’ Tim stilled himself and tried again. ‘I like you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah! I really fucking like you! That’s-’ Tim gestured helplessly over the balcony, ‘that’s why I, you know. Asked you for drinks.’

‘Oh,’ Martin breathed, flush creeping down his neck. ‘Ah. God, I’m so stupid.’ 

Tim leaned into him then, reaching somewhat blindingly and finding the lapels of his half open shirt. ‘You’re not,’ he said fiercely, then again, quieter as he realised quite how close their mouths were. ‘You’re not stupid.’

He leant even further, so that the air between them was all hot breath and no cold night, tilting his head up. He didn’t quite wait, but slowed just enough to savour the feeling of closeness and maybe still offer a way out. But he was met in the middle, after only a second. Martin made an  _ oh!  _ sound when he realised why they weren’t already there.

His kiss had all of his sweetness but none of the chivalry Tim was going for. It was heavy and keen, his hand coming up to slide sweaty against Tim’s cheek and pull him up. Like a movie, Tim thought, grabbing onto his collar tighter. In his defence he was pretty drunk. He realised this wasn’t true really. It was a lot more tongue than a movie kiss. Probably would be a bit much for public if they weren’t drunk on the roof of a gay bar. 

Realising that made him splutter and break the kiss of laughing. 

‘What?’ Martin glared at him, trying not to join in. 

Tim pitched forward, resting his forehead on Martin's chest. His abs shook from laughing. ‘I really thought you might be straight.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Martin snorted, very unconvincingly. His hands held Tim's shoulders as they both broke into giggles. 

  
  


Sunday brought the worst of the hangover, but seven AM on Monday still hit pretty hard, Tim's alarm blaring through his brain like a staple gun. 

Sasha’s tiny desk stapler felt the same and he almost whined at her asking her to keep it down. She stubbornly refused, but when Martin approached with tea she changed her tune, winking and taking hers through to the kitchen to grab biscuits or some other made up thing.

Martin set a mug down on Tim’s desk very gently. He too was clearly still avoiding loud noises. Tim smiled gratefully as he took it. 

'You're a saint.'

Martin shrugged. 'I needed one. Figured you did too.’ 

‘You were right,’ Tim said emphatically. 

The first sip was far too hot but perfectly soothing all the same. Something warming and pleasant that didn’t somehow still smell of booze. He hummed happily, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically given Martin’s snort of amusement. 

‘Something about beer before liquor?’ 

Tim laughed and nodded, watching as Martin slumped back into his own desk chair and stared listlessly at his desktop. He huffed at Tim looking, but it looked fond rather than irritated. Then he buried his face in his hands with a groan. 

‘Fucking tannin.’

‘In what?’ Tim asked, grinning despite his sympathy.

‘I don't know. Beer? I'd check Wikipedia if I wasn't still  _ somehow  _ hanging out my arse.’

Tim grinned, laughing as quietly as he could to be considerate. Then he had to say it. 

‘I know we’re maybe a bit too old for a regular bender, but I did have a good time the other night.’

‘Yeah,’ Martin smiled his shy closed mouth smile, the one that gave him dimples. He pushed his glasses up. ‘Me too.’ 

‘And I was wondering,’ Tim said, quite naturally and immediately since he'd been thinking about it all weekend and since Martin was right there looking so cute and rumpled. The rest sprung out of him without pause. ‘If you wanted to get a drink later. Or tomorrow. With me.’

Martin grimaced and Tim frowned, stomach sinking to think he might regret the whole affair. He braced himself. 

Then Martin said ‘actually, um. I thought maybe we could do dinner?’

‘Oh!’ 

‘Yeah. No wine or anything, just. You know. Food.’

He cringed and Tim smiled. ‘I’d love that,' he said, surprised how soft it came out. 'I wasn’t sure...’

‘Well,’ Martin said in a similar tone, ‘yeah... You can kiss me sober too. If you like.’ He swung a little on his spinny chair. 

‘Sounds good!' Tim beamed, making a victory fist just to make Martin laugh at him, pink cheeks behind his hands. ‘Tonight?’

‘Oooo,’ Martin grimaced, ‘let me recover from this hangover first?’

‘Right, sorry.’

‘No, it’s nice,’ he reassured, standing up quickly. 

Tim's breath was held still and hot in his mouth watching as Martin swayed back over to his desk, sitting down on the corner and tracing over the paperwork there. Gradually his hand traced over and slid on top of Tim's. It was far less than they'd had at the club, but after the weekend, after the alcohol and the music had worn off, it was nice to feel that wasn't a dream. His skin was dry this time, and not nearly so hot, only warm from the mug. He looked quickly around the office before ducking down and pecking Tim on the cheek, withdrawing just as fast and smiling just barely before Sasha came back into the room and they had to pretend like nothing happened. Probably very unconvincingly. 

As Martin went back to his desk and Tim coughed and went back to work, she gave Tim and very gleeful, very smug thumbs up. Fine, she deserved it. But publicly Tim would ascribe the victory to the DJ, dancing, and his own excellent taste in drinks. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ahh this one was fun ... drunk flirting GOD I MISS THE PUBLIC HOUSE


End file.
